


prey

by tsonis



Series: howl [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, Werewolf Jesse McCree, hanzo and genji will be a happy family if i have to forge this out of the fires of canon myself, mccree cannot stop talking about his dick, sombra makes her cameo again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 04:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsonis/pseuds/tsonis
Summary: “You know, you can touch me.”The words hung in the air, and Jesse whipped his head around to look at Hanzo. He flushed, and wiggled further into the cushions, wishing in that moment they’d just swallow him up. He needed a better brain to mouth filter, and briefly entertained the idea if they had that cybernetic enhancement available on their healthcare plans.





	prey

**Author's Note:**

> first of all from the bottom of my heart. my fucking bad. i literally put this off until i forgot about it then went through a fucking shit ton of family issues so here i am, attempting to fix my wrongs by updating. if you notice a change in writing style its because i wrote the first half like RIGHT AFTER 'just a bite' then just wrote the rest. today. 
> 
> ANYWAY, cws include: over the top sexual innuendos, a little bit of bump and grind, and a little descriptor of the extent of genji's injuries (not to bad, but some might be uncomfortable reading it).
> 
> also yeah i didn't do anything for mchanzo week but stare at my folders like "wow i should do these" then played overwatch or died. beta'd by the mythical and magical jamie (love u). probably soon to be re-read by kathleen (love u too). as usual, if you spot mistakes lemme know so i can fix it and or be embarrassed and never change it.

McCree, ever the gentleman he is, had agreed to escort a still blushing Hanzo back to his room.

“The least I could do, all things considered,” McCree had said, winking when Hanzo rolled his eyes. 

“And what are we considering?”

“The fact that you are one of the best kissers I have ever had the pleasure of smoochin’.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Hanzo said gently. 

“I rather not go anywhere, especially if you're here with me.”

“I’m walking away now,” Hanzo announced, ignoring the way McCree snickered at the falter in his hand as he shoved his key in the door. 

“Wait, hold on,” McCree murmured, placing a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder.

Hanzo turned, question ready on his lips, when McCree all but swooped down to press a lingering kiss on his lips. 

“You got something on your lips.”

Hanzo hummed against McCree’s lips, hand abandoning his keys—which fell to the floor with a metallic jingle, the sound going unnoticed to them—in favour of placing it on his shoulder to trap him against his front. “Better make sure you get it then.”

“Clean up on aisle Hanzo comin’ right up.”

 

\--

 

Their relationship felt the shift after their kiss; the fleeting, nervous encounters of old turned to bold, exploratory ones. McCree didn’t hesitate to reach out to grab Hanzo’s, fingers trailing over each bump and line of his hands almost like he worried Hanzo would disappear through his fingers. In turn, Hanzo felt no uncertainty about placing a hand at the base of McCree’s back to guide him when they walked together.

Satya had taken to looking particularly smitten with herself when Hanzo had described their date and the change in their relationship, and in watching his eyes light with an emotion he thought had died within him years ago.

(Hope, a small voice reminded him, it was hope for the future with someone he cared for.)

“And you just walked out after sharing the best kiss of your life?” Fareeha asked, question muffled by the mouthful of fries she spoke around. Satya swatted at her, chiding her poor table manners, to which Fareeha stuck her tongue out and chewed more obnoxiously. 

Sombra sighed, flicking a fry at Fareeha—who deftly grabbed it out of the air to pop into her mouth—to voice her disinterest and disappointment at their guests. “When you invited me to lunch I thought it’d be a _date_ date, not a play date.” 

“You could’ve asked,” Satya reminded her.

“Would you have been honest?”

“That is beside the point.”

Sombra rolled her eyes, curling over the plate of curly fries in front of her. “Every moment I spend with you is a journey of patience. And love.” She added hastily at the sharp look Satya sent her way.

“Hanzo’s made progress, but the question is have you?” 

Fareeha looked up, hand paused in front of her mouth with one of Hanzo’s curly fries. “Uh… yes?”

“Really?”

“I talked to her yesterday and only sweat through the first layer of my flight suit, a very serious accomplishment on my part,” she nodded sagely.

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” Sombra offered.

“Exactly! Even your girlfriend agrees with me.”

Satya smiled, lacing her fingers together. “Well, it is a good thing that Angela will be joining you on a date then.”

Fareeha squinted at that. “What do you mean?”

“I hacked into your communicator and sent her an invitation for tomorrow night!” Sombra said, eyes sparkling with glee. “Better pick her up at six.” 

“You didn’t.” 

“Oh, but I did.”

Fareeha’s muscles flexed, and in an instant she was launching herself across the table at a gigging Sombra; with a wave and a wink, she disappeared in a flash of purple light, leaving Fareeha to smack into her once occupied seat and topple over.

“Damn it Sombra! Get back here!” She roared.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” a disembodied voice remarked, tinny from where it came over the base-wide speakers. Around them, the cafeteria’s other patrons looked up in confusion. 

“I will find you, and I will end you.” Fareeha promised, before taking off into the halls.

Hanzo blinked dumbly, looking at the remains of his fries where they lay crushed on the floor. 

“I guess we went a little too far this time,” Satya murmured, whether to herself or Hanzo, he didn’t know.

“You think?”

She sniffed, and the moment of introspection passed. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t erase the past.”

With a shrug, he got up. “As always, it was an eventful outing.” 

“Likewise.”

 

\--

 

Hanzo didn’t do _nervous_ —his whole life was built on the foundation of self-control and repressing anything that threatened it—so it unnerved him when he found himself pacing outside of Genji’s room, hesitant to knock.

He had promised to meet Genji, or at least make the effort to bridge the self-made gap that had grown between them. Genji had seemed so excited at the prospect, and Hanzo had felt guilt wash through him at the way a cautious hope had crept into his voice. 

“You can do it,” Hanzo muttered, smoothing a hand over imaginary stray hairs. 

“Do what?” Hanzo jumped, plastering himself against the wall opposite from Genji’s now open door. 

“You almost gave me a heart attack!” Hanzo bit out, coughing to cover the way his voice had raised several octaves in fear. 

Genji shrugged, not even attempting to smother his laughter. “You’ll live.”

As dignified as he could, Hanzo straightened up and walked through the threshold into Genji’s room; it was painted a rich honey gold, decorated with a few hanging photos. Hanzo walked closer to study them, heart stuttering when he recognised a polaroid of them when they were kids, face squished together and smiles stretching their lips thin. 

“You still have this?” He asked, voice thick with emotion.

“Of course, you never did stop being my brother.” The unspoken ‘unlike for you’ hung heavy in the air between them.

“But why? Even after I… did that to you, you still kept it?”

“I thought about throwing it away, considered even burning it to get back at you in any way I could, no matter how small. But I couldn’t. Some part of me still desperately wanted to hold onto you, onto my brother, no matter what had been done to me.”

“I see.”

Silence fell, seeing as both of them did not want to continue their waning conversation. Genji excused himself to his kitchen, allowing Hanzo the time to look at the other photos. One was of him and Angela at an Overwatch holiday party, candy canes held in hand and heads thrown back in laughter. Another was of him and Zenyatta, posing with an arm slung around each other. 

“Do you still drink tea?”

“Pardon?” He startled out of his studying the pictures to see Genji standing over his oven, turning the burner off under a whistling kettle.

“I was going to make us tea, specifically chamomile to calm your nerves, especially after I frightened you in the hallway.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“With one spoon of honey and almond milk still?”

His heart ached at how Genji still remembered how he took his tea. It seemed like the last time they had sat to partake in it together was many a lifetime ago. He nodded, not trusting his voice, and settled himself at the wooden chair at his breakfast nook.

“Do you mind if I remove my helm?” The question was quiet, almost as if he wasn’t supposed to hear it. 

“I—of course not. Go ahead.”

There was a hydraulic hiss as Genji eased off his helm, before he settled it beside their steaming mugs. 

“It is just easier for me to drink this way. I can put it back on if I make you uncomfortable.”

Hanzo’s eyes searched his brother’s scarred face, it was heavily damaged, almost unrecognisable to him, except for the dark eyes. “Genji,” he sucked a breath in through his teeth against the sting in his eyes. “I do not even know where to start.”

“Perhaps with sitting at the table with me?” At Hanzo’s blank look he rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to. We agreed to start fresh.”

“There are no words to even express the depth of my regret.”

“So don’t.” Genji’s eyes shone with a long-hidden pain despite the practiced nonchalance of his words. “Why don’t you tell me about everything that I have missed up until this point? Perhaps about Jesse McCree?” 

“Angela told you, didn’t she?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes, before taking the mug closest to him to drink from it. The tea scalded his tongue, and it grounded him against the embarrassment threatening to flood him. “He is annoying, he manages to wiggle himself into everything I do. Everywhere I go I see him, almost like it is planned.”

“Perhaps it is,” was all Genji offered him in way of his knowledge.

“You don’t think they are in on it, do you?”

“Stranger things have happened, and it is not out of the realm of possibilities considering how meddling your friends are.”

Hanzo nodded, choosing to sip his tea instead of replying. 

“But it is a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?” 

“McCree is; for you I mean.” Genji shrugged, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Even when we were close I never talked to you about your partners, but this is different. You do not look as haunted and lost.”

Hanzo scrunched up his face, choosing to attribute the heat in his cheeks to his steaming tea. “Can we stop talking about this? I’m not embarrassed of him, nor of our,” he swallowed, tapping his nails against the side of the mug. “Current meetings.”

“You know you could just say dates, or relationships. But, once again, I am not here to judge.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes and muttered a rough, “Whatever.” 

“While this has been a uniquely uncomfortable conversation, would you rather we talk about something else? Say, the possibility of dying those greys away?”

“How dare you even think I would talk advice on dying my hair from someone who dyed his _green_.”

“We all make mistakes, what is the most important is that we learn from them.”

“I hate you.”

 

\--

 

His phone buzzed noisily against the top of Genji’s table, startling them out of a near twenty minute conversation on who really had eaten the last of Genji’s fifteenth birthday cake. Hanzo swore, before excusing himself to answer the call, ignoring the way Genji’s lips pulled into a knowing smile.

“Hello?” He asked, gesturing rather rudely when Genji started mime someone tipping their hat and smoking. 

“Hey, darlin’,” a thick drawl greeted him. He hunched over onto himself, as if it would help hide the true identity of the caller. Genji laughed in response, fist banging against the table and sending one of their spoons clambering to the floor.

“Jesse. What a surprise.”

“I can tell. Sounds like you’re having fun over there. Don’t stop on my account.”

“It is just Genji,” he muttered, raising his voice to add, “being his usual, annoying self.”

A soft huff of air sounded across the line, and McCree chuckled. “If it is sibling bonding time I can call back later.”

At the way his voice trailed off, almost worried he had disturbed them, Hanzo’s brows knitted. “No, it’s fine. What’s, uh, up?” He winced at his own words.

“Just my d—“

“I can hear everything going on!” Genji squawked, slapping his hands over his ears. “My sensitive ears!” 

“Jesus, Han! Am I on speaker ‘r somethin’?” McCree muttered, sounding rightfully flustered. 

“No, my brother’s always had unnaturally good hearing,” Hanzo sighed. He felt as if he’d burst into flames from sheer embarrassment alone.

“Oh, well, uh, I was just wondering if you’d like to come over tonight. Maybe watch a movie.”

“That’d be nice,” Hanzo murmured, face and tone softening. 

“Cool, great.” There was silence on both ends, and from the corner of his eye, Hanzo could see Genji feigning nonchalance despite how he dipped his head in the direction of him. “My door’ll be open. See you soon?”

“Yes. Bye.”

Before Jesse could say anything further to incriminate himself, Hanzo ended the call, and shoved his phone back into his pocket. Genji stared at him, eyes hooded and chin resting on his laced fingers.

“What?” He asked, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. 

“You hung up rather fast.”

Hanzo jabbed a finger in his direction, doing his best to look like the threatening older brother. “Don’t even say it.”

Genji raised leaned back, raising his hands in surrender. “Just as I said earlier, no judgement. Just be safe, okay? Use protection.”

“Oh my God,” Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose. “We are not talking about this right now. Or ever.”

Genji cackled, it sounded the same as the one he let out when they were kids, and Hanzo would fall for his elaborate pranks; or when Hanzo had tried to climb a rope and ending up falling when he was halfway up it, resulting in a nasty rope burn that had him limping for days.

“Fine, fine,” he relented. “Have fun.”

 

\--

 

McCree was quick to answer when Hanzo knocked, the grin he sent Hanzo had him returning a small, shy one.

“Good to see you.”

“You too.”

They stared at each other, and Hanzo opened his mouth to speak before McCree beat him to it. “You want to come in?” 

“No, I rather stand out in the hallway all night.”

McCree’s face scrunched up. “You serious?”

Hanzo scoffed, and walked past him into the apartment, choosing to ignore the warmth McCree radiated when his arm brushed against the thin material of his shirt. 

“Mi casa, su casa,” McCree chimed, shutting the door behind them.

Hanzo looked up at him as he toed off his boots, studying the man as he went off to putter around his living room, not so subtly cleaning off the food wrappers from his coffee table. 

“What did you have in mind to watch?”

“Netflix recommended its own mini-series to me, so I wanted to watch it. Figured it’d be more fun with you.”

Hanzo said nothing, choosing instead to flop onto the couch and stretch his legs until he spanned its entirety. McCree watched, amused by the proceedings, and hooked a hand under Hanzo’s legs to lift them and settle beneath them, fingers playing with the remote as he scrolled through his recommendations. Hanzo beatifically kept quiet when he saw the majority of them were about cowboys or country music. 

“You know, you can touch me.” 

The words hung in the air, and Jesse whipped his head around to look at Hanzo. He flushed, and wiggled further into the cushions, wishing in that moment they’d just swallow him up. He needed a better brain to mouth filter, and briefly entertained the idea if they had that cybernetic enhancement available on their healthcare plans.

“I meant, you look like you are sacrificing your own comfort because you’re unsure if you can touch me or not,” Hanzo said, feeling bold. “You can.”

McCree hummed, settling arm he had kept hovering awkwardly in the air over the back of the couch. The touch of his fingers, warm and soft, against his own had warmth pooling in his stomach. He winced at his own foolishness. They had made out, for God’s sakes, _multiple_ times, but the touch of their fingers still sent sparks skittering through him.

“Good to know, darlin’,” his voice was more of a purr than anything. “But for your sake, I’ll ignore the wording.”

Hanzo swallowed thickly, ignoring the pull in his shoulder as he compensated the distance between them to lace their fingers together. “You don’t have to.”

“I know, darlin’ .”

“So why—“ 

McCree hushed him as the title screen came up. Hanzo inwardly cursed himself, and turned to the screen, choosing to study the opening of the show instead of the way disappointment and shame weighed on his lungs like a thick smoke. 

“I can smell your upset from here.”

“I thought we weren’t talking about this.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as McCree pushed the fingers of his free hand into his eyes, rubbing away the irritation that rose in him. “C’mon, Han.”

“No, no, I am obeying your command, Jesse. We’re ignoring it.”

“Y’know I didn’t mean it like that,” he tutted, the grip on their entwined fingers tightening ever-so-slightly. “If you’d just let me explain—“ 

“I can’t hear the show over you.” 

“There’s subtitles on, Han. Stop being difficult.”

“I’m not difficult. I am cooperating. That is the opposite of being difficult.”

McCree paused the episode, and Hanzo’s lips twitched into a frown as he saw that they had barely gotten through the first three minutes. “Just listen to me, please.”

“Fine.”

“What I meant when I did that was that I didn’t wanna, y’know, lose control like the first time we met. I don’t wanna mess this up. I don’t wanna mess _us_ up.” 

“You feel like,” Hanzo swallows, “ _touching_ me will ruin it?”

“Think back to how we met,” McCree bites, the façade of calmness dropping. “Do you remember what I did to you? I practically violated you, Han. _Hell_ , not even a practically, I _did._. I don’t want a repeat of that.”

“But I just told you I am fine with it. In fact I _want_ you to.”

McCree groans, throwing his free hand up. “I want to, too. Hell, I’d jump your bones right now if I thought I could control it.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Hanzo murmurs, the jumble of negative emotions in his chest unknotting at the naked vulnerability displayed on Jesse’s face. “I never have been.”

“I know, darlin’. But _I_ am.”

“And you think touching me like this will, what, trigger it?”

“Can’t even say it,” McCree laughs, the sound bitter. “I’m a monster, Han, let’s just acknowledge the furry elephant in the room.” 

“Shut up,” Hanzo spits, the venom in his words surprising even himself.

“’Scuse me?” McCree asks, tone rife with disbelief.

“You aren’t a monster. Don’t ever say that.”

McCree scrunches up his face. “Y’barely know me.”

“But I’d like to.”

Something in McCree breaks at that, and he unlaces their fingers to carefully push Hanzo’s legs off his lap. His jaw works, once, twice, and for a brief, horrible moment in time, Hanzo thinks he’s done something wrong; he wouldn’t be surprised if he did, his track record with people he cares about is little more than scorched earth and a handful of bounties on his head.

“That’s a very dangerous thing you’re saying, darlin’,” McCree’s voice is low and rough, sending electricity skittering along every nerve ending in his body.

“Danger’s my middle name.”

McCree looked genuinely puzzled at this. “Genji told me you didn’t have one.”

Whatever was building like a crescendo between the two dissolved at McCree’s words, and Hanzo flopped back on the couch, groaning, while McCree doubled over, laughing hard enough to have him gasping for air.

“You’re lucky I like you, idiot,” Hanzo grumbled, relenting when McCree pawed at his leg, and shuffling over to throw one over his lap, straddling him as he wiped the tears at his eyes. 

“I count my lucky stars everyday for it,” he crooned, one hand settling on his hip while the other snaked up to cup the side of his face, metal thumb brushing over the bow of his lips. 

“Thought you didn’t wanna touch me,” Hanzo murmured, settling his hands on either side of McCree’s head, watching as his pupils widened all the while.

“I’ll make an exception for you, just this once.” 

At that, Hanzo dips down to press a kiss to his lips, McCree’s response is immediate; a shifting of his hips to grind up against Hanzo, who gasps against him. Jesse licks into his mouth, and Hanzo has the distinct feeling of being taken apart bit by bit. He bites back, as vicious and dominant, earning him a vice grip on his hip, and a low rumble staring in McCree’s chest.

He pulls back then, eyes focused and too bright for the room lit only by the screen of the television. Hanzo feels silly in comparison, the kiss leaving him weak-kneed and frazzled. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I was never one to quit.”

McCree smirks, and surges back up to kiss him. The movement almost distracts him from the way McCree’s hands have migrated to sneak under his shirt; cold metal presses against his stomach, and he gasps, the noise swallowed by McCree’s mouth. His hands move to do the same, pressing against the hard muscle of his abdomen when from behind him the television booms back to life.

Hanzo jerks back, eyes wide and fearful, and feels Jesse’s hands move quickly to keep him from tumbling back and almost braining himself on the coffee table. 

“I, uh,” he coughs, clearing his throat, “think you hit the remote.”

He lets out a groan, leaning forward and curving his spine to rest his forehead against McCree’s shoulder. “The mood is ruined. Again.”

Jesse sighs, and moves one of his hands from his waist to his butt, patting it reassuringly. “It’s okay, pumpkin, another time.”

“How do I find you attractive?” Hanzo laments.

“My rugged handsomeness, roguish charm, and my big di—“ 

“I am breaking up with you,” he deadpans, “we’re over.”


End file.
